


Who Saved Who

by Mindless_Chatter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Dogs, I don't know how this is going to go, LMFAO - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rescue Dogs Rescue People, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, i just want to write shameless fluff, if you enjoy sweet things, rescue dogs, this is sugar and spice, this will be riddled with cliches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:57:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17482457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mindless_Chatter/pseuds/Mindless_Chatter
Summary: Steve is an artists that is struggling with everything but work. When his friend convinces him to get a dog to help with his depression, he never expects it to take him on the journey that it does.





	Who Saved Who

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever read the internet legend of Tank the dog, the inspiration for this is obvious. If you've seen this plot floating around, it may have been me desperate to rp this to get it out of my head. It never was quite right. This really was always meant to be a Stucky Fic. 
> 
> Written for Ludaluser. I miss you more every day.

"Get a dog," they said. "It will be fun," they said. "It will encourage you to go out more, make sure you get a little more exorcise and sunlight," they said. "You won't be lonely with a dog around," they said. "You'll be glad that you did," they said.

Steve hesitated to call anyone a liar (except to their face) but there were definitely some bias fucking opinions about dogs out there.

Two and a half weeks prior, he had been recovering from another depressive episode when his friend, Sam, had dropped in on him. They had met a few years earlier in uni, and they had made fast friends, and despite Steve's self perceived failings and shortcomings, they still were friends. When Sam showed up, it wasn't to tut and pass judgement, but to offer company and something warm to eat. 

Steve had been grateful. Working from home ensured that most days he was appreciative of someone to speak to, and particularly when he still felt drained from melancholy, he protested less about being looked after. Sam's presence was particularly appreciated, because he knew how busy his friend was. Not only had Sam left university on the fast track to becoming a councilor, a career he now excelled in, but his personal hours were split between a relationship that was rapidly evolving towards marriage and an animal shelter, where he always seemed to take the initiative. Every time Steve turned around, it seemed as if he were learning about a new event that Sam was planning or hosting to help the homeless animals. 

As they had sat at Steve's little kitchen table and spoke, the conversation had inevitably turned towards his recent spell. Sam never pried and never pitied, but he listened and offered sympathy. The solutions he suggested were in a soft tone and never with the condemning, condescending tones of certainty. More than once, he had been adamant that Steve had survived his depression thus far, so everything he suggested was just something he hoped would help. That already softened the bitterness Steve had built up about his illness, and when the majority of those suggestions did offer some relief, it warranted attention when Sam made a new one.

This was not a new one. Since they had briefly been roommates, Sam proposed Steve get a companion animal. No one was deluded enough to think Steve could afford a service dog that was trained to listen for the tick in his heart or to retrieve his inhaler when the rasp in his lungs became more like a rake. Consistent work had improved his stability, and it wasn't irresponsible to get a dog, but several thousand dollars simply wasn't feasible with a job that offered no insurance. While Steve could have benefited for something more, Sam was adamant that just having something around that relied on him would boost his moral.

Often, Steve deflected, claiming preoccupation or grimly joking that it would be unfair to drop dead on something that relied on him. That day, Steve had been tired and sad and lonely, so he listened, and he nodded, and he let himself get talked into going down to the shelter with Sam. It was there that he had found her. Her papers said she was an Australian Shepherd, but that meant little to him. Steve saw a stout body with a thick coat of splotched gray and black fur framed in brown and white. Her eyes had been what stopped him, staring straight at him out of the kennel where she stood stock still. They were a shade of blue that even colour blind he immediately recognized. 

When Steve had been drawn to the front of the kennel, kneeling down to speak to her, Sam had made some soft remark about it "figuring" that Steve would pick her. He hadn't asked what that meant. He had been too taken by the beautiful dog, and before he could remember all of the reasons he had put off getting a dog before, he found himself signing adoption papers.

It hadn't been near so quick to get her home. There had been an inspection and an interview. Steve had gotten to sit in a room with the dog, who was introduced to him as Bayou. It was a terrible name, so he had decided to call her Bailey. She didn't respond to it yet, but Sam had assured him in time she'd learn it. She had been standoffish, but calm, tolerating his petting and studying him gravely. 

That gravity hadn't lasted long after getting her home. 

Like a spark suddenly catching kindling, the escape from the confines of a concrete kennel had set something off in her. After the first nervous minutes, she had started to tear through his home like a holy terror, and every time he turned around, he found her destroying something new.

Steve had left her home long enough to run to the store to buy himself some food, and as he came back through the door, he was immediately dismayed. Not only was there a sketch book shredded to scraps and scattered across the living room, but the dog lay in the midst of it, gnawing on his tablet pen as if it were a bone.

"Bailey!" Steve snapped, and she was up like a shot, dropping the pen and dancing away from him. Leaving his bags by the door, he snatched up the device and fumbled it between his fingers to see if it was broken. While there were teeth marks scored into the hard plastic, she hat least hadn't broken the casing. He was skeptical that it would still work, and he shook it at her as he lectured, "This is your living too. If I can't work, neither one of us can eat."

With a wide yawn, Bailey dipped down into a bow, and her tailless tush wriggled in the air. With a huff, Steve went back to get his bags as he complained, "Shameless."

It wasn't the first such incident, and Steve was finding his already scant belongings steadily growing fewer. While he worked from home, he still spent hours a day shut up in his studio, and he didn't trust her in there with him, so she was left in his living room. His few attempts at crating her had gone abysmally, as she wailed for hours on end until Steve caved and freed her. Leaving her loose was no more of a solution as she ripped through his house like a hurricane, and no matter how he tried to shake things off, he rapidly found himself reaching the end of his rope. 

Three weeks of living with Bailey, and Steve emerged from his studio to find the straw that broke the camel's back.

Bailey was no where to be seen. Perhaps sensing the weight of her crimes, she had already hidden herself away. It didn't matter. No one and nothing else could have shredded the photo album that was sitting on the couch. It had been tucked on a high shelf, and Steve wasn't even certain how she could have gotten the book, but with shaking hands, he lifted the album to discover that the last pictures he had of his mother were gone. No different than if the had vanished, they were ripped to scraps, and Steve felt sudden and consuming defeat well up inside of him.

With shaking hands, he reached for his phone and dialed Sam's number. It took only a few rings for his friend to answer, and when he did, Steve choked out, "I need to take Bailey back. I need you to take her back. Tonight. I can't keep her."

"Steve?" Sam asked, alarm as plain in his voice as the misery that was in his friend's tone. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"I can't do this," Steve confessed, and he felt guilty. He had heard all of the lectures from his friend. He knew well that an animal was a commitment. It had been an impulsive action, and Sam might've encouraged it, but he faithfully believed the seeds of the idea had been sewn a while, that the notion had just finally taken root and started to grow. "I can't take care of her. She's just too much."

There was a voice in the background, and Sam's voice was muffled in response. When he spoke to Steve again, it was obvious that he had drawn his hand away from the mouth piece. "Look, Steve, before you make any decisions, I want to come by, okay? I want to talk to you before you give up, okay?"

"Ok." The agreement was thick, not reluctant but hopeless. He couldn't argue or insist that Sam take Bailey back immediately, but he couldn't imagine keeping her. She was supposed to make things easier, but she was just making him miserable. 

She didn't seem any happier either. On their walks, she pulled and strained, paying no attention to Steve, and while she wolfed down breakfast as if she had never eaten before, she didn't even sniff at her dinners. She spent more hours resentfully curled up in her basket, gnawing obnoxiously on a toy, or restlessly pacing the halls than she did by his side. It felt like a bad match, and Steve was ready to throw in the towel.

The call concluded with a hasty goodbye from an adamant Sam, insisting Steve take a breath and wait the few minutes it would take for him to come by. Steve wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. It wasn't like he would open his door and let Bailey run off into the city, but his mind was made up. She didn't belong with him.

When Sam came by, he had a bag over his shoulder. The label of the shelter was emblazoned on the side, and there were various supplies poking out the top. After greeting Steve, he held it out and told him, "These are Bailey's things. Some of them were in storage when you got her, and I just kept forgetting to bring them to you."

"Sam, I don't want them," Steve refused, his hands held up in denial. "I don't want her."

When it came to being stubborn, Steve typically won, but Sam always gave him a run for his money. Still holding the bag out, he tried to inflect patience as he told him, "Every new dog in every new home has an adjustment period, Steve. I get that it has been rough getting her to settle, but you've just got to give her some time."

"I have given her time, Sam." From defensive to defeated in the length of a sigh, Steve seemed to shrink as he confessed, "I don't feel like she wants to be here. She destroys everything and refuses to sit still. I don't know how much more I can take."

In face of Steve actually appearing 5'4, instead of the 6'2 he puffed himself up to be, Sam hesitated. He questioned his own convictions, but only for a moment, and as soon as it passed, he pushed the bag into Steve's arms firmly. "Go through the bag," he commanded, certain he'd still meet reluctance. "Just...go through it and hear me out."

Steve's defeat didn't pass as fast as Sam's hesitation, so he took the order. It was easier for him to be defiant and challenging when he felt he was in the right. When he had taken Bailey in, it had been with an implied promise of forever. He had never gotten her with the intention of abandoning her like her first owner. She wasn't a defective device he was trying to return, but a living, breathing creature that was supposed to be able to trust him. He wanted to be someone she trusted.

Sitting on the couch, he began to pull the items out of the bag. They were toys and dog bowls, a collar and a leash, and several frisbees. As he unpacked the bag, Sam began to speak.

"Look, every dog, every cat, every person, every relationship comes with its challenges. Some are small things, easily over come. Some are bigger. A lot of the dogs we rehome have been abandoned or neglected or abused. They don't trust people anymore or they are afraid to lose their food or they can't stand to be left alone. Each of these dogs has different needs, and we don't always get to figure all of them out. That part falls to you, the adopter. You've got to have the patience and the compassion to figure out what she needs.

"It may seem like wanton difficulty," Sam acknowledged as Steve turned the frisbee over in his hand. It was flexible canvas with the word 'BLUE' printed on it. Whether it was a logo or a brand or a scrap of irony on the green frisbee, he wasn't sure, but it was easier to look at than make eye contact as Sam continued. "It may seem like she's just tearing up your house out of spite. I can promise you, she's not. She's frightened and insecure and somewhere new for the first time in a long time, and the place she was before really wasn't that great."

As the final frisbee was set down, Steve reached into the bag one last time. All that was left was an envelope, which Steve plucked up with a wrinkled brow and piqued curiosity. As he saw that Steve had the final item in his hands, Sam sighed and concluded, "Bailey's circumstances aren't typical, either. She has been in the shelter for almost two years, and she only went up for adoption the day before you came in. It just...It just really feels like it is meant to be."

"What is this?" Steve asked instead of acknowledging Sam talking about fate. It wasn't the first time his friend had contributed perfectly good coincidence to something so fickle as fate. Instead, his interest was on the sealed, blank envelope.

"It's a letter," Sam answered helpfully. As he reached for the leash, he elaborated, "Her owner left it along with her. It was supposed to be read by whoever adopted her."

"Why didn't I get this with her?" Steve asked as he turned it over in his hands. He hadn't noticed Bailey reemerging from wherever she'd hidden after destroying his memories. As she poked her nose against the heap of toys on the table before him, he did notice and he looked at her with a slight frown.

"We misplaced it." It was an honest answer, and Sam attached the leash to Bailey as he gave it. "I only found it a few days ago as I was gathering up her other things. I think you should read it before you make any decisions about whether or not you want to keep her, okay? I'm going to take her for a walk...a long walk...and we can talk about what you can do with her when I get back."

Resigned that he had to at least read the letter, Steve nodded. Slipping a finger beneath the lip of the envelop, he tore it open as he answered, "Alright. I guess I can wait until you get back." 

He knew better than to hope that Bailey would be leaving with Sam that night, so he would read the letter if just to give Sam time to talk her for a walk. If it wore her out enough to sleep, it at least meant she'd have fewer conscious hours to dismantle his house before he got her out the door.

As it closed behind them, Steve pulled out the small packet of folded paper out of the envelope. Shaking it out, the lined papers unfolded to reveal a tidy, hand written message, and summoning his resolve, Steve began to read. 

_Hello,_  
_So the shelter probably introduced me as something dumb and different, but I want you to know my name is Blue By You. You can, of course, just call me Blue. As of writing this, I’m one and a half years old, which really means I’m just coming out of my puppy days. Who knows how old I am upon you reading this, but there are a few things about me I can’t imagine changing. First is that I hate baths. I’ve always hated baths, and the only thing worse than a bath is having my nails cut. Not all grooming is awful, however, and I’ll stand perfectly still if you brush me with the right brush. Not slickers, because I don’t like the way they scrape, and no rakes. A good bristle brush and I’ll wag the entire time you’re brushing me._  
_I like a breakfast of dry kibble and my dinner to have some wet food. I’m not terribly picky, but if you feed me wet food with breakfast, you best expect me to pester you all day for my next serving. I spoil easily, and right now, I refuse to eat biscuits. My manners are flawless, and I’ll accept them every time...just to leave them somewhere out of sight. Try jerky or something a little meaty to get my attention. There is nothing I won’t do for a treat._  
_All of my favorite toys have squeakers, and by favorite, I naturally mean to destroy. Please don’t give me any rope toys. I shred and eat them, and that is an expensive surgery I want to avoid. Don’t even let me see a frisbee unless you have time to play. Right now, I’m a relentless ball of energy, and if I don’t get to burn a few miles on the treadmill, I cannot be held responsible for my actions._  
_The only thing I enjoy more than running is learning new tricks. Right now, I know hand signals in basic ASL and when paired with the verbal command, I comply 8 times out of ten. Sit, Lay, Stay, Follow, Stand, and Shake are all in my repertoire but there are so many more you can teach me. Teach me something new and I’ll be your best friend._  
_She is my best friend._  
_So...hello to the person that got my dog. I have to say that you reading this really sucks because it means not only does Blue belong to someone new, but that I am no longer alive. When I adopted Blue as a puppy, I had been enlisted for two years already. I’ve been bounced from one base to the next, but I never expected to be deployed overseas. Life has a funny way of not working out the way we expect._  
_I’m not giving Blue up because I don’t love her or because she is a bad dog. Everyone says their dog is the best, but Blue really is the best dog I’ve ever met. She’s as smart as a whip and sensitive too. While I’m writing this, she’s lying on my feet. Ever since I got my papers, she’s been plastered to my hip. She knows something’s off, and she hates that she can’t fix it. I do too._  
_I don’t know how I’m going to leave her at the shelter tomorrow, but I’ve got to. Leaving her with a friend would be fine if I knew I was coming back, but there is no way I can know that, and I don’t want someone to wind up stuck with her. Blue deserves better than someone who got stuck with her._  
_So as much as it sucks that you have my dog and as much as I hate that I’m never going to see her again, I want to thank you. You chose Blue, which means you have the good sense god gave a rock, and you got her out of that shelter, and, hopefully, you’re going to love her half as much as I used to._  
_The guy I spoke to at the shelter promised they’d keep her so long as I was alive, and I don’t doubt for a second that they meant it. If there is any positive that can come from my death, it is that I’m not coming back for my girl. She is yours now, and you had better treat her right. I do have a few final pieces to impart about her, if just to make your life with her easier._  
_Blue really is too smart for her own good. She gets bored and she she gets lonely. I’d even bet she’s still missing me. I haven’t even left yet, and I miss her. If she’s being difficult because of this, just give her some patience. It’s always been the two of us, and I try to spend every free minute I have with her. She enjoys car rides and being around people. She’s never met a stranger, but she’s also always had her person and her place. Her whole world shifted with this, and it changed again when she left the shelter to go to you. Keep this in mind, and if she is acting up, just spend a little extra time on her._  
_Generally speaking, she does have more energy than any two dogs need, and an extra long walk or another round of fetch is good for her. Wearing her out isn’t the only way to manage her, but it is a good way to get her to fly straight for a bit. Plus, she is cuddlier when she’s tired, and if you haven’t gotten the chance to find out yet, she is the best cuddler._  
_You’ll never have a friend more true or loyal than Blue By You. When she was just four months old, we went camping and a bear wandered into our camp overnight. She wasn’t even thirty-five pounds soaking wet, but you can bet she was between me and the door to our tent before I was even awake. Puffed up and growling, she’d have taken on that two hundred pound black bear without a second thought. I scared it off before she had to prove it, but she was a fierce little thing, and that hasn’t changed._  
Whether you’re facing a physical threat or just having a bad day, Blue will stick by you. She might be struggling right now, but please, just give her time and she’ll prove time and again that she is a good girl and a loyal friend.  
_Thank you for choosing Blue,_  
_J. B. Barnes_

Utterly drained from the misery of losing the last visual reminder he had of his mother and the stress of failing with Bailey, Steve still felt surprised to realize there were hot, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Guilt sat heavily on his shoulders from the moment he had started struggling with Bailey, but it redoubled reading that letter. Her owner...her former owner had loved her so much. 

What was worse was that Steve wanted to love her. 

He wanted to get to know the dog that was described in those pages, and he realized that he had been years since she had been that dog. Three years spent in a kennel, she had more time between when she had been loved so totally than she had being loved. Nothing deserved to be locked up that long, innocent of any wrong doing and isolated from connecting with another living being, and denied any chance of freedom.

It inflamed him, once the misery had passed. His resolution to do right by her was no longer the desire of someone wanting to be a good owner. He wanted to do the right thing by a dog that had once been good and loved and deserved to be chosen. He wanted to give Bailey the life she deserved.

Not Bailey, he realized dully as he heard his front door opening again. Looking up as Sam lead the dog back in, Steve said in a soft voice, "Blue."

The reaction was immediate. The lolling head snapped up, and her ears came forward. Keen blue eyes sought Steve's face, every bit as intense as their first meeting in the kennels. In the same gentle tone, he repeated, "Blue," and she took a pace towards him. As Sam removed the leash, Steve held out his hand and coaxed, "Blue By You, come here. Come here, Blue."

Slow and uncertain, the dog came across the room, and with each step, Steve crooned her name again and with each repetition, she gained confidence. A squirm began to spread through her, starting in the flicking of her stub of a tail, and as her went nose bumped against Steve's knuckles, that wiggling infused her entire body. One last, joyful proclamation of her name, and the dog bundled into Steve's arms, wagging and lapping at his chin in a sudden display of affection.

Laughter burst out of Steve, a combination of delight and shock at the change. Racking his fingers through her fur, Steve ruffled her up and pet her down until she settled on her haunches in front of him. Blue panted happily as tore his gaze away to look at Sam, who was lingering by the door with a knowing smile on his lips. Without an ounce of doubt, he announced, "I need your help. How do I take care of her?"

Fortunately, Sam had a wealth of experience with dogs, and Blue was not some unmanageable hell hound. An hour of discussion over habits and routines, and Steve realized he had developed neither for her. Sam tutted for a change, always quiet in the belief routine would solve a great deal of Steve's problems, but now insistent that it was what Blue needed. A bed time and wake up call, breakfast and dinner at consistent hours, consistent walks to stretch her legs, and real exorcise at the park a few times a week. Before Sam left, Steve had a rough idea of what to change and where to begin. 

In parting, Sam told him, "You made mountains out of molehills, man. You just got to learn how to listen when she speaks."

"Well," Steven began, directing a smile at Blue, who had settled into her basket, curled into a ball, "I'm listening now."


End file.
